A new day was dawning when he climbed out of the deep well of drug-induced unconsciousness and opened his eyes. His wrists and ankles were bound, and he was lying on a stretcher fashioned of lashed-together saplings. It was being carried by two gold-skinned Venusians, one of whom was the male member of the couple who had come upon him and Sonya the previous afternoon.
He raised his head. Apparently the perfume he had inhaled possessed only part of the properties of chloroform—in any event, he felt no ill effects. Turning his head, he discovered that his captors consisted of about two dozen natives, all told, and that every one of them wore a metal collar. Half of them were women, and one of the women was the one he and Sonya had seen the day before.
There was another stretcher just behind his own. Sonya Mikhailovna's face was hidden, but he could see her horse-chestnut colored hair. "Are you all right?" he called.
She did not answer. Clearly their captors had used the same drug on her that they had used on him, and she was still under its influence. A number of other things were also clear: the two original Venusians had been part of a larger group—an excursion party, perhaps—and after vanishing into the forest, they had rejoined the main body and reported his and Sonya's presence. The decision to capture them must have been made shortly afterward.
The trees thinned out on Gordon's right, providing him with a glimpse of distant blue-misted hills and gray-blue sea and bringing home the realization that he was being borne along the lofty inland ridge that circled the island's interior. For the first time since he had opened his eyes, fear touched him. In less than two months, Venus would approach to within thirty million miles of Earth—the distance which the Space Force technicians had used in computing his return trajectory and in estimating the amount of fuel he would need. In all probability, Sonya's return trajectory and fuel-supply had been similarly computed and estimated, and if so, she was in the same boat he was. If they were kept captive for any length of time, they might not be able to return to Earth for another year, and while it was conceivable that they might be able to live off the land after their supplies gave out, it was far from likely.
Maybe, though, eating wouldn't be a problem. Dead people are as unable to eat as they are unable to tell tales.
The trees thinned out again—on his left, this time—and he saw a bowl-shaped valley far below. There were green fields and blue lakes, and scattered clusters of white buildings. Villages, no doubt. They weren't large enough to have registered on his viewscope during his orbit, but they were large enough to register on his retina now.
The faint trail which the Venusians had been following began zigzagging down the side of the ridge, and the going became more difficult. They kept glancing uneasily at the sky as though they momentarily expected it to fall down upon them. Gordon could discern no cause for their concern; as far as he could see, the sky was the same hazy pink it had been yesterday—but then, he was not a Venusian and consequently knew nothing about such matters.